


I See Through You When We're Sitting In the Dark

by cardel



Series: Burn Everything You Love, Then Burn The Ashes [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, SPOILERS for ALL of season 3 as episodes air, Stand Alone, ont-shot, sort of but not really fix-it fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:25:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardel/pseuds/cardel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is walking into the loft when he sees Derek standing in front of the, floor to ceiling, window. Derek’s posture screams defeat; he’s hunched in on himself, head down, back curved, shoulders slumped. It’s almost as if he can stop whatever he’s feeling if he can just make himself small enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I See Through You When We're Sitting In the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Inpired by S3E03. Unbeta'd. Originally posted to [my tumblr](http://threwcautiontothewind.tumblr.com/post/53560639257/fic)

Stiles is walking into the loft when he sees Derek standing in front of the, floor to ceiling, window. Derek’s posture screams defeat; he’s hunched in on himself, head down, back curved, shoulders slumped. It’s almost as if he can stop whatever he’s feeling if he can just make himself small enough.

Moving further into the loft, Stiles stops dead in his tracks as he notices that, what he thought were spots of dried blood on Derek’s back, are actual open wounds. The wounds are deep, unmistakably made by werewolf claws and healing far too slowly.

Fighting every instinct that is screaming at him to run to Derek, Stiles swallows and begins to slowly make his way to Derek. He is being so slow and quiet not in any semblance of stealth but because he wants to give Derek the opportunity to tell him to leave should that be what Derek wants.

When he’s finally standing right behind Derek, Stiles reaches up with one hand and places it gently on Derek’s shoulder. He hears Derek sigh as he leans into his touch.

“What happened?” Stiles asks him, voice a near whisper but still too loud in the quiet of the room.

Derek shakes his head.

“Okay,” Stiles drops his hand from Derek’s shoulder and hasn’t taken half a step away when Derek reaches for his hand, taking a hold of his wrist.

“Don’t go,” Derek’s voices is wrecked; it sounds the way his back looks, shredded, open, bleeding.

“I’m not going; I was going to grab something to clean your wounds with,” Stiles explains.

“They’ll heal.” Stiles fights the urge to yell at him to scream and demand for Derek to tell him why he thinks it’s okay to always put his life in danger just because he’ll “heal."

Stiles wants to tell Derek that his healing ability does not make it okay for him to get hurt. He wants to ask Derek about what will happen when he doesn’t heal? What will happen when his injuries are bad enough to kill him? Derek may be indifferent but Stiles is not and frankly he is so done with Derek believing he is dispensable, irrelevant. He will make Derek care about himself no matter what.

For now though, Stiles stays silent. He’s sure Derek can feel his anger but they’re both too raw, there are too many emotions cutting them to the core (in Derek’s case physically and emotionally) to have a conversation they won’t later regret. They’ve already been to through much for one evening they don’t need to make it worse by having an argument that will take more than one conversation before there is any resolution.

Instead of arguing Stiles says, “Yeah, you’ll heal but the blood won’t clean itself from your skin.”

Derek is quiet and after a minute he nods and lets go of Stiles’ wrist.

Stiles is efficient and quick in his task. He needs the illusion of control to keep him from falling apart. He fills a bucket with warm water and gathers some towels. He walks back to Derek and has him straddle a chair; Derek does so, slowly and with a heavy sigh. Stiles takes a deep breath, tries not to feel like he’s about to pass out. He places a small kiss to the small bit of intact, blood free, skin right behind Derek’s ear, he feel Derek relax minutely, he’ll take it.

They’re both quiet as Stiles cleans the blood around Derek’s wounds, which have finally began to heal at werewolf speed. He cleans gently until the last gash closes releasing a drop of blood before the skin underneath heals. Stiles cleans the blood and then uses a dry towel to dry Derek’s skin.

When he’s done he cleans up the supplies throwing the towels in the garbage. He goes to the bathroom to wash his hands, splash some cold water on his face before drying it. He takes a deep breath to collect himself before he walks back out to Derek.

As he enters the living room he’s not surprised to see that Derek is still sitting stock still on the chair. His head bobbing as he nods off into exhausted sleep.

“Hey, come on.” Stiles takes Derek by the hand leading him up the winding stair case into the bedroom. He strips Derek down to his briefs before tucking him underneath the sheets. Derek’s easy compliance speaks so loudly about how emotionally and physically shocked he must be that Stiles doesn’t want to think about it.

Stiles watches Derek settle in the bed. There are no more wounds on Derek’s back but Derek still lies on his stomach. It makes Stiles’ stomach turn thinking that Derek most likely is still feeling the phantom pain from his recent injuries.

Stiles strips down to his boxers before getting in next to Derek. Stiles sits up on the bed his back resting against the headboard, a pillow at his back. Derek moves over to him, he lays half his torso on Stiles’ legs, his arms winding tightly around Stiles’ waist.

“They’re alive; Boyd and Cora," Derek whispers into Stiles’ skin. What he isn’t saying; “but Erica is not," hangs heavy and painful in the air.

Stiles begins to run his fingers through Derek’s hair knowing it will help Derek relax. “I’m glad they’re alive. Too many people have died recently," that’s all he can bring himself to say without falling apart.

“I’m sorry, about your friend,” Derek tells him, his arms tightening around Stiles’ waist. The embrace is a little on the tight side, which is okay, Stiles needs the comfort, the reassurance that Derek is here with him, grounding him as much as he grounds Derek.

“Shh, go to sleep. We can talk tomorrow.” Stiles closes his eyes, fingers raking gently through Derek’s hair.

Stiles thinks about tomorrow, about the people who will no longer have a tomorrow. He thinks about how lucky he and Derek are because they will have a tomorrow regardless of how painful it will be. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, Stiles will make Derek realize how lucky they are and how important it is for both of them to keep having tomorrows, preferably, together because the alternative will never be an option.

**Author's Note:**

> I did write an additional espisode 3 inspired thing. It's just [a silly thing](http://threwcautiontothewind.tumblr.com/post/53228448996/lmfao-dereks-new-wheels-my-face-hurts-im) to offset all the sads :(


End file.
